Pointless Denial
by Rai Walk
Summary: Yullen, PWP. Failed try at a fill for the DGM kink meme. ::The sword is just an excuse, anyway. Like every other time. He says nothing, the other says nothing.:: Please give me some feedback, if you could.


The blade nicks his throat slightly, a thin rivulet of blood immediately going down. For a moment he arches his spine away from it, but it follows him, resting against his neck once more. He takes in a ragged breath.

They've done this thousands of times. Maybe not that much, he concedes, but enough that he knows both of them have lost count.

His hands are tied neatly, gently and pulled up. The blade leaves his neck for a miserable second, in which he tries to kick back, hit something, anything. His leg is deflected and the blade is thrust upon the mattress, at an angle that he'd lose his hands if he tried to escape.

He lets his body relax slightly. Experience is enough to know that if he doesn't, it will be painful, and the other won't stop for that- _it would ruin everything if that happened_.

Hands are exploring his chest, open mouthed kisses and licks raining upon his back and spine. Long, thin fingers prod and tweak the flesh of his chest, his mouth opening slightly to allow him to pant. The loss of control is exhilarating in a strange way; even if he did not want it to happen, the other would do it anyway.

Not to say he ever was unwilling, because if he really didn't want... the other wouldn't have stood much of a chance.

There's a nip at his tail bone and he hisses, hands clenching reflexively on the wood of the headboard. He wonders faintly where the other got the rope.

The hands move from his waist to his thighs, and he jerks when one finger brushes over him. It takes him a moment to realize he's panting, but when he does, he could care less.

The sword is just an excuse, anyway. Like every other time. He knows. The other knows.

Those fingers move over his legs, pressing and massaging, knots undoing in their wake. The muscles relax and he sighs as if defeated, shoulders slumping forward to the sheets. His legs won't be effective in kicking the other off anymore.

He takes care in moving his wrists, but the added danger of losing both hands only heightens his senses, puts everything in sharp contrast and leaves him dizzy. He feels soft breaths upon his skin, one arm bending around his waist and-

He chokes on a moan, there is one hand stroking him and he's counting threads from the sheet, his arms are trembling and the fabric is brushing teasingly against his body, there's warmth just out of reach and he arches his back with a ragged cry.

There's an oiled finger inside his skin. For a moment he realises the other was planning on this meeting, having brought the only thing they'd need for a quick fix of their mutual addiction- _because, frankly, they don't love each other._ And somewhere in his mind an unwelcome voice laughes- _denial_, it coos- but he beats it down because _he's busy now, damnit_.

There's another finger inside, and his legs reflexively spread, and he closes his eyes, biting his lip and face contorting. He doesn't know his expression and he'll make damn sure to never know- _the other would never try to make them do it in front of a mirror, anyway._

One more and they're moving, and his eyes open but he can't see anything. There's panting in his ears- his own- and a hiss from behind him. His vision blanks and he hears a shout, vaguely recognizes his own voice and then he's back to earth, breathing harshly.

"There," the hiss makes his shoulders shiver. The hand on his front abandons him, there's a dirty, disgusting sound of liquid that only serves to make him more aroused. Something presses against him. He's so far gone that he arches his back, shoulders pressing down, ass pressing up, the hands on his hips guide him.

There's a wet sound and he groans, feeling full in a strange, familiar way by now. A hand knocks his knees farther apart and he falls slightly, his insides moving around and because of what's seated in him. He whimpers, weakly moving back.

The hands grip his waist tighter, and then the other _moves_.

The other moves in a way he's already learned will be best- they've done this so many times the other could have mapped him blindfolded- and he's losing himself, stuck on the edge and trying to claw over it, unable to fall.

The other always neglects him until he's too far gone to remember he's supposed to pretend he doesn't care, and he's learned the best way to not be left unsatisfied is to speed up the process, clenching his body and groaning deliciously in the other's ear when there are teeth nibbling on his shoulder.

The other's hair curtains along his back and fall beside him, moving silkily with every forward-backward motion. He buries his face against the sheets, spine arching and body pushing, there's another brush and his head snaps up, neck bent almost awkwarldy as he cries in pleasure. His mouth is still open, saliva beginning to dribble over his lips.

Finally, _finally_, a hand returns to him and his voice dies out on him, thighs trembling and white-hot coils in his stomach, taking little more than- _a second? an eternity?_- before his mind falls apart and his body tightens completely.

When his mind has pieced itself halfway back, he distantly notes the disgusting warm liquid spilling on his legs. It takes him another moment to notice the feeling of fullness hasn't left him- the other is still there, piecing his own mind back together without letting him go.

_That's new_, he thinks bewildered, _but not bad._

He says nothing, the other says nothing.

His hands are slowly freed, an arm around his waist pulls him back and another arduosly pulls the sheet from the bed, a second one beneath. He's far too sated to feel like moving, but is still somewhat surprised when the sheet is used to clean the inside of his thighs, only enough to take away most discomfort before he feels himself being laid down.

"Not a word," the voice at his ear makes him smile. He nods and moves his right hand, seeking, and another answers, fingers twining.

If he said anything it would ruin it, anyway. There's nothing to say, now.

_And the voice in his mind coos again- denial..!_


End file.
